Incriminating Incidences
by SpellCleaver
Summary: Clary Fray has never known what would happen to her in the future. How can she, when she doesn't even know the past? All she knows is that her love story is doomed to be a tragedy. So it wasn't really surprising to her that one night changed everything. What was surprising was what it was changed into. Short Story. AU/AH Clace. Complete since April.
1. some say the world will end in fire

Clary eyed herself critically in the mirror.

Her adoptive sister was grinning like the Cheshire Cat at her skeptical expression. Isabelle - thrilled that Clary had finally consented to be her "model", as she put it (the word Clary had used was victim) - had leaped at the chance to dress the shorter girl up in fancy clothes that had her scowling and writhing in discomfort.

"You love it." Isabelle insisted, her dark eyes shining. Isabelle was the kind of girl who looked perfect with no effort. Her black hair was always perfectly done, and she was tall, with a face that had men staring at her like she was a star that would burn out their eyes of they looked for too long, but the view was worth going blind for. Clary knew that Isabelle was jealous of her petite body and slender frame, but Isabelle had nothing to be jealous of in her eyes. She was perfect: bright, brilliant and beautiful.

Clary wasn't beautiful. She knew it, and had other talents to rely on.

But Isabelle was cutting it pretty fine. She had pulled Clary's scarlet hair into an elaborate hairdo, stuck through with seemingly thousands of glittery gold pins. She had done little to Clary's face, seeing as it would be covered by the pearl-studded gold mask shaped like two wings spreading over her eyes that had been chosen by her sister. The dress Isabelle had threatened, blackmailed and bribed Clary into had a tight corset - but not as tight as those of the other ladies; Isabelle knew enough not to go that far - that showed off her slim waist. The golden material widened slightly below the waist, but not so wide that it required a whalebone frame, like some extravagant dresses Clary had seen. Again, that would be impractical given Clary's position. Clary had flat out refused to don the slight heels Isabelle had given her, instead just wearing flats.

"I do not." Clary replied, though both girls knew she was lying. Clary had a strange fascination for beautiful things and this dress was no exception. But that didn't mean she was thrilled about having to wear it.

"Lying is a sin, dearest sister." Isabelle chastised, arranging a lock of Clary's hair so it hung over her shoulder. "And it won't kill you to admit what a genius I am. The gold compliments your blush perfectly."

Clary spun around to full on glare at Isabelle, who cried out as the hairstyle came tumbling down at the sudden movement. " _Clary!_ "

Clary spoke through gritted teeth. "Let it go, Isabelle." She should have known her adoptive sister had ulterior motives when dressing her up in _gold_. It was too obvious.

"According to you, there's nothing to _let_ go." She point out, smiling wickedly at she restarted on Clary's hair. Clary rolled her eyes, an unladylike habit she had no intention of breaking.

"That's because there _is_ nothing!" She ground her teeth in frustration. This had to be the millionth time she had had this conversation in the past two years. And yet Isabelle _still didn't get it_.

"Izzy, stop tormenting poor Clary." Called an amused voice from the doorway. Clary twisted round, ignoring Isabelle's muttered protests, and gestured forcefully at her adoptive brother.

" _Thank you_ , Alec!" Isabelle huffed.

" _Fine_." She said, before shooing Clary out of the seat so she could do herself.

Clary had been adopted by the Lightwoods at three years old, when she was found abandoned and freezing on the doorstep of their household. Robert, at his wife's insistence, had appealed to King Stephen to allow the Lightwoods to keep her and raise her like she was Isabelle and Alec's sister. The King had agreed on one condition: she had to earn her keep.

She gulped, swallowing the guilt, at the thought.

She walked over to stand next to Alec, who was clearly trying to contain his laughter at her disgruntled expression. "Our sister is mental." He murmured, so Isabelle didn't hear him and whack him.

Clary nodded violently. "Tell me about it." She turned to grin at Alec, not surprised to find him grinning back.

A small pang went through her when she realised they might not have moments like these anymore. Alec had been appointed by the King as an ambassador to visit and try to smooth relationships between the Herondale kingdom, and their neighbouring one, the Morgenstern kingdom. They had been fraught for as long as anybody could remember. There had once been a plan for Stephen's only son, Jonathan, to marry the Morgenstern's second child and only daughter, Clarissa, but she had disappeared a long while ago. Whilst the engagement still held, since Clarissa's family hadn't stopped searching for her and insisted she was still alive, the bond did nothing to help the unity between the kingdoms. The King feared that if the discord grew too great then the Morgensterns - who were superior to the Herondale's in weapons and might - could declare war, which wouldn't end well for his rule.

Clary reached over and laced her fingers with Alec's, a carelessly affectionate gesture. "We'll miss you whilst you're gone."

He smiled down at her, but there was something pained about it. "I'll miss you and Izzy too." They stood in silence for a moment.

"Done." Isabelle said, rising from the chair like Aphrodite out of the sea. "How do I look?"

That had to be a rhetorical question. Isabelle wore a long white dress lavishly festooned with creamy lace that seemed to put colour into her pale skin. Silver embroidery decorated her arms and ivory mask, and her hair was pulled up in an elegant knot with a few strands coming down to frame her face.

"Phenomenal, Izzy," Clary breathed.

Isabelle laughed and clapped her hands. "Let's go!" She swept out of the door to her and Clary's chambers without a backward glance to see if her siblings followed.

Alec turned to Clary and whispered hesitantly "At this ball... you don't have a job to do, do you?"

She frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"It's a _masked ball_."

Clary shook her head. "No, but the King ordered me to go anyway, considering it would look suspicious if I was only at the events where a murder occurred. If a person noticed and mentioned it to the King, he'd have to execute me and have me replaced. And we all know I'm the best at what I do."

Alec's crystal blue eyes were sombre. "Well, those who know what you do know that." She nodded, slowly, careful not to dislodge her hair. "Who are they again?"

She checked them off on her fingers. "King Stephen, Queen Celine, Robert, Maryse, you, and Izzy." She listed.

Alec raised an eyebrow. "Not the Prince?"

She raised her eyebrows in response, seeing as she couldn't raise one. "Why would he know?"

Alec smirked. "Well, you two seem _particularly_ close-" He broke off with a laugh as Clary lightly smacked the back of his head, reaching up on her tiptoes to do it.

"Not you too!" She groaned. "I get enough of that from Isabelle."

Still chuckling, Alec raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine." He turned to the doorway where Isabelle reappeared, looking impatient. "But," he added as he reached his sister, "I think I speak for both of us when I say that if anything _does_ happen... we had better be the first to know."

"He's engaged." She pointed out.

"Even so..."

She rolled her eyes again. "Very well."

They nodded to her and disappeared down the corridor. Clary moved to follow them.

But not before she picked up a small pocket knife and slipped it into her bodice.

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 **What did you think? Should I continue? Review!**


	2. some say in ice

**The response from the first chapter was really positive so here is the continuation. Just a warning: t** **his story will skip PoV's frequently.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.**

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Jace stood, letting the servants fuss over him and prepare him for the event later. Their constant buzz of excited chatter irritated him slightly, but he bore it for the sake of the gossip that he always heard around this time. Usually he wouldn't care, and forget it, but this time he paid attention at the mention of a specific name.

"...Lightwood will be leaving court soon." One of them said. The boy looked about thirteen, with dark brown hair. The maid he was talking to absently nodded, eye fixed on the line of stitches she was doing.

"I expect Miss Lightwood and Miss Fray will miss him sorely," she agreed. Jace began to pay attention to their conversation. Any knowledge about Clary Fray was an asset at court.

Everyone knew about the little red-haired girl, fifteen years old but short for her age, who had been accepted into the court when abandoned. No one knew why the King had agreed to it; he could be unyielding when he wanted to be. Jace had always suspected something suspicious surrounded the entire ordeal, but that was between Robert Lightwood and King Stephen and if anyone else knew, they weren't sharing.

"Will she though?" Mused a third servant, another dark-haired boy, slightly older than the first. " _C_ _an_ she, even? There's something off about that girl, more than her undefined status at court, though I'd wager she has as much right to call herself a Lady as a pig." Jace started to strain very hard to listen in, though he tried to appear like he wasn't. "She keeping a secret; mark my words. It's probably-"

"Enough chatter. It's annoying," snapped a cool voice. Jace breathed an exasperated sigh. Apparently he wasn't the only one who found idle chatter irritating.

Turning only his head, Jace gave an infuriated glance to the teenager sprawled in a plush chair to his right.

Jonathan Morgenstern grinned, eyes shining maliciously. They were an odd colour, one that sent shivers up Jace's spine. The dark, glossy green of poison ivy. His colourless hair was swept back in a way that seemed both careless and elegant, and his slim, tall figure was clad in a white dress shirt, with a black waistcoat over the top. Knee length black breeches came above white silk stockings, and his shoes had a silver buckle on each. One leg was lazily draped over the other. His long dextrous pianists fingers tapped a rhythm on his thigh, where a black mask shaped like the birds eye view of a raven in flight lay. The whole monochrome ensemble made his already pale skin almost deathly white. He caught Jace's glare with a smirk.

"Eavesdropping, are we? Honestly, I would have thought a Crown Prince wouldn't stop so low." Jace's only response was to narrow his eyes. Jonathan's posh way of talking annoyed him. The Morgensterns were visiting to try and kick-start a peace treaty that Alexander Lightwood could discuss with them when he went travelling to meet them. That was the entire reason the ball was being thrown, as a welcome, though only a select few knew that the Morgensterns were in the palace. They were meant to be introduced as the guests of honour once everyone had shown up.

That was the plan. Therefore, it probably wouldn't go down well if Jace murdered Jonathan before the treaty was set in stone. But it was tempting.

"Of course," the obnoxious idiot drawled. his fingers slowing their tapping. "One would wonder why that particular piece of gossip intrigued you, considering you looked just as bored as I earlier." His eyebrows rose and his lips curved into a mocking smile. "Perhaps you have... _admiration_ for this 'Miss Fray'?" Jace's expression was stony. Jonathan shook his head, now smiling open-mouthed. He was clearly enjoying winding Jace up. "But you are engaged to my sister so..."

"Your sister is dead." Jace said thoughtlessly.

Jonathan's expression darkened. He stood up, face contorted and snarled " _Lissa is not dead!_ "

In shock, Jace stepped back, breaking the small knot of servants hovering about him. They looked at him in alarm, but he waved them away and they left the room. He turned back to Jonathan but he had already composed himself. "Something you would do well to remember, Jonathan." He finished, spitting the words.

"My name is Jace." He snapped.

"Oh, I beg to differ." Jonathan had turned away but now he turned back. "Your parents named you Jonathan, that is the name on your birth certificate, and that is the name I will call you."

Jace's lips twisted. "I have as much right to be called Jace as your sister did - _does_ " he corrected at Jonathan's heated look "of being called Lissa." He retorted hotly.

" _Do not talk of my sister in that way!_ " Jonathan's hands were squeezed into fists, his jaw clenched in fury. All of a sudden, the anger seemed to drain out of him, replaced by sorrow. His hands unclenched as he fell back onto the chair, wiped his palm over his forehead. "She never did anything to you."

"She didn't have the chance." Jace replied softly. Jonathan's eyes were deep and mournful as he met Jace's butter-coloured gaze. The poison ivy colour of the Morgenstern's eyes didn't seem so menacing any more.

Then again poison ivy was only poisoned to prevent the world from tearing it off the tree trunk.

A loud knock sounded at the door. The look in Jonathan's eyes vanished, replaced by casual boredom. "Come in!" Jace called. The door swung open, revealing an unfamiliar boy - almost a man - of about Jace's age. He had dark curly hair, an oversize nose that somehow suited his features, and black eyes that somehow seemed full of warmth. He wore featureless travelling clothes. He seemed to have a sort of charisma that followed him and made everyone like him.

His eyes skimmed over Jace and rested on Jonathan. A wide smile broke out. "Jon!"

To Jace's astonishment, Jonathan smiled back. "Seb." He greeted warmly, standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. "You made it." When they broke apart, Jonathan noticed Jace's raised eyebrow. "This is my best friend, Sebastian Verlac. His father is a highly respected Duke." He turned to Sebastian. "This is Jona- _Jace_ ," He corrected, with a sideways glance and a curt nod, "Herondale."

Sebastian beamed at him. "It's nice to meet you!" He said cheerfully.

"Indeed." Jace murmured in response. But Sebastian had already turned back to Jonathan.

"Well then," Jonathan said, standing up. "As fun as this has been, I shall take Sebastian back to the guest chambers to get ready." He took his friend by the elbow, talking over his shoulder. "Jace, I believe you were assigned to be our personal tour guide for the duration of our stay-" He was twisting the words; Jace was pretty sure his father had simply said 'make friends and try not to kill each other', "-so I would appreciate it if in one hour when the ball is scheduled to start you turn up outside to guide us down." He grinned and gave Jace a mock salute. "It's been a _pleasure_ to meet you, _Jace_." The prince's voice dripped with false sweetness.

"And I you, _Jon_ ," replied Jace, mimicking his tone. Jonathan scowled. But when they were out of the door, Jace sighed.

The Morgenstern prince was confusing, to say the least. Violent mood swings, irrational anger, and fathomless thoughts. And he was supposed to tolerate him for a week?

Even so, he reckoned he could get through this ball. How much could happen?

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 **A lot, Jace. A lot.**

 **This will probably be the average length of the chapters from now on.**

 **What did you think of Jace? Sebastian? Jonathan? I know he might be a bit confusing at this point, but it gets cleared up later.**

 **Do you think Jonathan's a good or bad character? Sebastian?**

 **Review!**


	3. from what i've tasted of desire

**Thank you to everyone who Followed, Favoured, and Reviewed.**

 **Disclaimer: I own none of the characters.**

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When Clary walked in to the ballroom, it never failed to elicit a gasp from her. The high vaulted ceiling was decked in velvet draperies embellished with a heron - the royal family's crest - and, more peculiarly, a star. She frowned slightly, then smoothed her face before Isabelle tutted at her for wrinkling her face, even if it was covered by a mask. She knew that the Morgenstern's symbol was a falling star - 'like Lucifer' as she had heard the King sneer - but why would their symbol be _here_?

She looked around the rest of the hall. A long table full of sweetmeats was stretched out along the back wall, next to a band comprising of a violinist, pianist, and some others holding instruments she couldn't name. The polished dance floor was swirling with dancing couples. She spotted several unmarried girls shamelessly flirting with their dance partners. Elaborate, cushioned benches were dotted at small intervals against the walls, and the floor was raised slightly into a dais where the thrones for the royal family sat, with glorified chairs to the left where visiting royals would sit. In the centre, on the grandest throne, sat King Stephen. His heavy crown - one he only wore to entertain foreign diplomats or royals as a way of intimidation - sat upon his neatly brushed blonde hair, and his face was plastered with a gracious smile.

He caught her gaze and his blue eyes flashed with warning, though his face never moved. She knew what the look meant. _Keep your head down._ She always did.

On his right sat Queen Celine. Unlike him, her smile didn't seem faked. Her aureate eyes were warm and bright as she smiled at seemingly random people. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a simple yet elegant bun and she bore her slightly smaller crown with surprising ease.

On the King's left sat the Crown Prince.

His sharp, beautiful face was a precise replica of his father's, but his eyes were his mothers. He was sprawled inelegantly across his throne like it wasn't a honour to be there. When he looked up to see who had come in, he caught sight of Clary. Her red hair was recognisable anywhere. The bored look on his face dropped, replaced by something undecipherable as their eyes locked.

Her stomach flipped and she broke the contact hastily, blushing. But not before Isabelle saw and grinned knowingly. Clary scowled.

As the song came to an end, the King cleared his throat. He beamed a broad smile - though Clary thought it seemed like he was baring his teeth - and threw his arms wide. "Welcome," he intoned, "to the masked ball I and my Queen have thrown to honour our _noble_ guests-" Clary cringed inwardly; he clearly was not fond of them, "the Morgensterns."

That explained a lot.

The doors next to the dais flew open, and three people walked in. The front two were clearly King Valentine and Queen Jocelyn Morgenstern. Valentine was a broad-shouldered man, with a stately, aloof air, who looked out at the assembled like they were beneath his notice. However, Clary noticed the abundance of grey in his white hair, and the faint wrinkles and shadows that surrounded his black eyes. Clary felt hers was the only sympathetic glance, though, the rest being filled with awe and fear. His eyes scanned the crowd and despite her sympathy, Clary felt glad Isabelle had dressed her in a colour closer to dull bronze than bright gold, as he scrutinised with force anyone who stood out.

Queen Jocelyn, on the other hand, was a different story. Clary heard the breaking waves of whispers carrying across the hall. She empathised with the Queen. More times than she could count she had heard the mutterings "red as the fires of Hell" or "only demon spawn have hair the colour of blood". The glares sent the Queen's way were heavy with hatred, though if Jocelyn noticed them she didn't show it, instead viewing the room with green eyes as cool and sharp as ice. Her tall, willowy figure was graceful as she slowly took the seat beside her husband.

The final Morgenstern was obviously Prince Jonathan. His skin was pale as snow, the same colour as the white hair he had inherited from his father. He walked with a lazy arrogance that spoke volumes about his character to the watching nobles. Where his parents had settled graciously into their allocated seats, he evaluated his with a glance brimming with disdain before grudgingly lowering himself onto it, sitting stiffly. His eyes flicked around the room before landing on something. He smiled warmly.

Clary followed his gaze to see a young man - about seventeen; the same age as the princes - smiling back. He had black hair that fell in curls, clear, pale skin, and had a similar frame to Jonathan Morgenstern - tall and narrow-shouldered. When he shifted she saw he had eyes a dark, dark brown behind a mask that was a lighter brown. It was a moment before she realised he was looking back at her, with an expression on his face he didn't like. She glanced down, wishing she had gone with a full face mask rather than the one she wore, so it would hide her violent blush.

 _Keep your head down._ She would do it gladly.

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Jace had felt his breath catch when he first saw Clary Fray enter the room. His gaze had first landed on her adoptive sister, Isabelle Lightwood, (whose wouldn't; she looked _stunning_ ) but then it shifted to the short redhead next to her and suddenly there was no air in his lungs.

Lots of glances would probably skip right over her. Her gold dress wasn't the most elaborate, the boldest, or even the widest. It was very inconspicuous, and blended into the masses well, despite the colour.

But then again, that was what Clary had always been good at.

He couldn't remember the first time he actually noticed her in a room full of other people, or thought about her other than to wonder what it was about that girl that people gossiped about. All he knew was that one day he realised he hadn't so much as glanced at anyone other than her even though she hadn't spoken to him or even acknowledged his presence. After that, he had striven to ensure he found out what it was about her that made her so captivating.

He had heard rumours that her red hair was a sign that she was a witch, sent by the Devil. Sometimes Jace wondered if what he was feeling was a product of witchcraft, but he had always dismissed the idea and dedicated himself to getting to the bottom of the mystery that was her.

At balls and celebrations he noticed her attending, he made sure to dance with her at least once, thoroughly interrogating her throughout. She hadn't responded well. She had told him, in the politest way possible that befit a prince, to go away and had answered few of his questions. Those that she did answer were with such vague answers they were hardly answers at all.

This only made the feeling grow stronger. He had kept trying.

This only led to his father pulling him aside and telling him to stay away from her. When Jace had replied that it didn't matter, that she was ignoring him anyway, his father had always responded in the same way.

"At least one of you has some sense."

But none of this had put Jace of. Eventually, he begun to notice that whilst there were exceptions, the majority of the events she attended ended with someone being swiftly and cleanly murdered by a clearly highly trained assassin.

And then Jace had overheard Stephen having a conversation with Robert Lightwood, Clary's adoptive father, about an assassin apparently working for the King, who killed off people who the King had discovered to be conspiring against him. They had referred to the assassin as "she".

Clary Fray's secret was much darker than being a witch.

But, he had to admit, it was genius. No one ever expects an angel to burn down the world.

Now, watching the blush flood to her cheeks as she broke eye contact with him, he still only half believed it. How could a girl made of porcelain wield weapons of steel?

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	4. i hold with those who favour fire

**Disclaimer: I only own the plot.**

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Clary and Isabelle had found a inconspicuous (or as inconspicuous as possible when it comes to Isabelle) position not too far from the back of the hall where, they occupied one of the long wooden benches. Clary's sharp eyes scanned the room, that deeply ingrained paranoia not allowing her to relax for even a moment. She saw that they weren't the only people who had sat down, though the floor was still packed with dancing bodies. Alec had joined Jace at the very back of the hall, next to the table of food, engaging him, Jonathan Morgenstern, and the dark-haired boy Clary had seen earlier in conversation.

She continued with her sweep of the room. A very sparkly man was speaking in seemingly light tones with Valentine and Jocelyn, though the King had a face as solemn as stone. Celine and Stephen were still in their thrones. Stephen was surveying everyone with the same hawk-eyed intensity as Clary herself. Before his gaze met hers, she flicked her eyes away towards the group at the back, only to lock eye contact with Jonathan.

The stare he gave her was calm and calculating, with his right eyebrow slightly quirked, though she noticed his restlessness and tense posture. He was as paranoid as she was. She met it head on, keeping her face blank even as he narrowed his eyes, confusion clouding his face. She noted absently that his irises were a dark green behind the black mask.

She was the first to break the connection, but she was expressionless enough that he could interpret it as he willed.

Her eyes shifted to Jace and her heart clapped when she saw he was looking back. Blush that she didn't need to fake reddened her cheeks and she desperately hoped he couldn't tell from this distance.

A quiet but distinctly unladylike snort emanated from Isabelle.

" _What?_ " Clary hissed. Isabelle just studied at her with that infuriatingly superior look on her face. She jumped as someone sat on the bench next to them. When Clary turned, she saw Alec wearing an identical expression to his little sister. She looked between the two of them, glaring.

"'There is _nothing_ '," Isabelle's words dripped sweetness as she quoted Clary from earlier. "'Let it _go_.'"

Clary kicked her in the ankle.

* * *

Jace felt the intense gaze studying him even before he turned, and felt it when it moved on. He knew enough to guess who it was, too. He had been stealing covert glances at Clary since she and Isabelle had walked in the hall.

A fact that, apparently, had not gone unnoticed by the demon known as Jonathan Morgenstern.

"Who's that you keep gazing at?" He asked, dark eyes glittering as he pointed over at the two girls. "The red-haired one, or the black-haired one?"

Alexander Lightwood - Alec, he'd heard his sisters call him - and Sebastian paused in their confusing discussion of politics Jace barely grasped, to look over at the two princes, one smirking, the other standing in awkward silence. They, also, looked over at the sisters.

Jace saw Isabelle notice their stares, and realise that they weren't looking at her. She raised an eyebrow, casting a side glance at Clary as she remained blissfully unaware of the attention being paid to her. The brunette smiled gloatingly.

Alec narrowed his eyes. "They're my sisters: Isabelle Lightwood and Clary Fray."

Jonathan's eyes sparked; he evidently remembered his and Jace's earlier discussion. But he kept his face neutral. "Fray? Not Lightwood?" He asked cautiously. His appearance was as carefully controlled as his father's.

"Clary was adopted." Jace said curtly, before Alec could get a word out. The Lightwood looked slightly fazed at the hostility in the Prince's voice. Evidently he wasn't as good at masking his emotions as Jonathan.

The prince raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, amusement laced into his features. " _Clary?_ "

Of course he would read too far into Jace using her first name.

Jonathan glanced over at Clary and Isabelle again - and froze. Clary was looking back at him. Despite the arrogance and the challenge in his face, she didn't back down, keeping her facial features blank as a canvas. Jonathan's collected expression began to slip. Jace had a moment of satisfaction as he realised he wasn't the only one she managed to confuse.

Then her gaze shifted to his. From this distance, he couldn't tell the precise green of her eyes, but he held it in his memory as clear as glass. Her delicate face was hidden behind the mask but she still looked beautiful. Her hair was tied up - as it almost always was - but he loved seeing it down. He swallowed to try and wet his dry mouth. It was like she had put him under a spell just by looking at him.

Then she turned to respond to whatever Isabelle had said, and the moment slipped into the past. Jace turned back to Jonathan, expecting him to chuckle and tease him about it, but he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"What's wrong?" He asked out of habit.

Jonathan's brow creased. "She looked... sort of familiar. Like someone I saw long ago."

* * *

Isabelle had left to accept one of the many offers to dance from various suitors, leaving her sitting on her own on the bench, since Alec had returned to discuss God-only-knows-what with the dark-haired boy, who he had called Sebastian.

Clary felt his burning presence before she acknowledged him, like how you may have your back facing a fire but you can still feel the heat from it drenching you. She gulped surreptitiously before looking up.

Jace's infamous smirk hung across his face like a lopsided crescent moon, but his eyes were uncharacteristically solemn. He had always seemed like two different people to Clary. There was the one who wore the smirk as a medal, that caused him to be branded a womaniser and a player and a man whore. Then there was the one she knew that not many people got to see. The one that asked her if she was alright when her eyes were ever so slightly puffy from the guilt-racked nightmares she had been plagued with a month ago that even Alec and Isabelle hadn't noticed, the side that kept the secret he had overheard from a conversation between Alec, Isabelle and Clary about Alec's sexuality.

Looking at him now, when he held remnants of both people in his face, she would be lying if she said it didn't give her a slight headache.

He held a hand out. It was trembling, despite his confident posture. This boy was a walking contradiction. "Dance with me?" He asked, and even Clary, a master at reading people, couldn't tell what emotion his voice held.

She wanted to. So much.

They had danced before. But this was public. This wasn't in a secret garden, accessed by a hidden passageway, cloaked in darkness, with no one around to hear the lack of music, or see the closeness of their bodies. This wasn't as ethereal and unreal as a dream woven of spider's silk. This was solid, and undeniable, and _real_.

And if what had happened last time happened again...

She blushed fiercely, waking up from her daze to see Jace smiling fondly at her. "I love your blush." He said simply.

 _Has he gone mad?_

She blushed even more deeply. Jace's eyes blazed. "Don't be so afraid, Clary." He said softly. "You don't need to be so cautious all the time."

 _You really have no idea what you're talking about._ Nevertheless she took his outstretched hand, trying not to acknowledge the tingle of electricity that crackled up her arm at the contact. But she knew he wasn't fooled as she walked with him to the dance floor, keeping a firm grip on his hand.

Clary had always been afraid of losing control. Whether it be of herself, or her situation, she hated it. And no one made her lose control as much as Jace did.

The music changed to a slow song, with lots of violins in it. Jace pulled her towards him, until they were so close their clothes brushed. "Clary." He breathed, like her name was a chant.

She stepped back, putting a more respectable distance between them, and not just because her stomach was turning from the glare of the King scorching her back. "Jonathan." She replied, trying to keep the breathiness out of her voice.

His eyes were passive, but she sensed that her actions had hurt. He chuckled humourlessly. "You don't need to be so formal all the time, either."

 _Is this a joke? Are the angels mocking me?_ "You have no idea." She retorted.

His gaze didn't so much as waver as it searched her face for something. Then, in an almost inaudible voice, came "I know you're my father's assassin."

She stopped moving altogether. He tugged her lightly to make her start again. Her breath came in short gasps. "Loosen up; if you're that stiff people will think you don't want to dance with me." He chastised, pointedly avoiding elaborating on what he just said, for which she was grateful.

"Maybe I _don't_ want to dance with you." She looked up at him through lowered, coppery lashes.

"You accepted" was the only reply. He gently spun her. "Just let go, Clary. You can trust me."

Dancing with him made her feel light, as though with every step the heavy guilt weighing down her heart dissipated into the atmosphere. And in its absence, she felt free.

So Clary relaxed and let him guide her, as she relinquished control.

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	5. but if it had to perish twice

**Hi! Sorry, I know it's been a while and this chapter isn't the best. I briefly lost inspiration for this story and I've barely found it. I'll try to improve at a later point.**

 **Disclaimer: I own none of the characters.**

* * *

 _Earlier that day..._

Jace fidgeted in his seat. He didn't see the point in his attendance at this meeting, or even having this meeting _before_ they introduced the Morgensterns at the ball later that day. The Hall was eerily silent, the Morgenstern's looking at him and his family expectantly. Of course, as the hosts, they would have to initiate the conversation and Stephen was using that rule of etiquette to his advantage, staying silent for an almost unbearable amount of time. Even Celine - Jace's calm and collected mother - was starting to look on edge.

 _It's like we're not meeting to talk about peace._ Surely if you wanted to broker a peace treaty you would want to form bonds of friendship, instead of intimidating your allies.

Jace, admittedly, was surprised that the Morgensterns had even agreed to visiting the Herondales. For all they knew, his father could be planning to murder them in his sleep and claim their kingdom amidst the carnage. He wasn't but... It was a leap of faith.

And he could tell by their expressions - or at least, Jocelyn's; Valentine's face was guarded and Jonathan just looked bored - that they were questioning whether or not they had landed on solid ground.

Stephen cleared his throat. _Finally._ Jace had to suppress a smile as he saw Jonathan roll his eyes. They caught each other's eyes and exchanged sly grins. He was a pain, but he was an entertaining companion.

"We all know why we're here," Stephen began, "I understand that we had another gathering similar to this with the same intent, but the plans made then have hit a slight complication." Understatement of the century. "So perhaps the way to peace is to agree to another marriage alliance?"

The Morgenstern king gave a curt nod, but sneered "And who is there to go into the marriage?"

His father only eyed his fellow king coldly. "The Herondale court has many eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. I'm sure yours has just as many."

Jace felt faintly sick. These were people. It was their entire lives that would be affected by this. Yet Stephen and Valentine were discussing it as though they were talking about breeding horses.

"We have compiled," Stephen said, pulling out a rolled up piece of paper, "a list of possibilities. I trust you've done the same?" Valentine nodded, bringing out a similar list. They handed them to each other and scanned down the names.

"Clary Fray," Valentine said, as Stephen read out "Sebastian Verlac."

Jace was itching to object, though he would probably end up making a fool out of himself. He had no solid reason to. He therefore was incredibly relieved when his father said "Not Miss Fray."

"Not Seb either." Jonathan said firmly. Jace raised an eyebrow at him and he scowled.

"Jonathan," Valentine said, staring disapprovingly at his son. "Don't speak out of turn."

"You're the one who said I should be here to 'gain experience'. How am I meant to do that whilst staying silent?" Valentine didn't respond so the Crown Prince turned to Stephen. "Not Seb." He repeated.

Stephen nodded. "Very well." Without asking permission he took back the Herondale list and compared the two. "Aline Penhallow and Alexander Lightwood seem fit matches." Jonathan's right to interject had assured Jace of his own. He stood up quickly at the names and, to his shock, Jonathan stood up as well.

"No," they said in unison, taking everyone including themselves by surprise. Neither offered an explanation as they retook their seats.

Celine glanced at the grandfather clock. "It grows late. We should adjourn the meeting and continue it tomorrow." She was already rising to her feet.

"I agree," Queen Jocelyn said, following suit. Jace really looked at her for the first time and realised she looked incredibly familiar, like he'd seen her before, when this was his first time meeting her. He'd heard that her daughter was the spitting image of her, but he was fairly sure he had never met Clarissa.

"Indeed," his father said. At that everyone who'd remained seating rose. "Jonathan," Jace was fairly sure he was the one being addressed, "take Jonathan to his chambers. Make friends and try not to kill each other."

* * *

 _Present (at the ball)_

Jonathan Morgenstern _did not want to be here_.

He did not want to be in a room so large people with agoraphobia would panic. He did not want to be surrounded by pretty, pompous lords (he also used some other unfavourable names for them) that resembled peacocks, or the giggling ladies (again, more insulting nouns came to mind) who were as shallow as peahens whilst they sought to flirt with the man with the most money. What's more, he did not want to spend another moment in this castle, when he could be organising the searches for his sister.

He knew she was still alive. It was why he always brought her up in conversation. So no one would forget that.

It was tragic. He'd barely gotten the chance to be the protective older brother he'd wanted to be, before she disappeared.

He touched his finger to his left shoulder, imagining he could feel the slight bump of the star-shaped mark beneath the layers of fabric he had on. Every Morgenstern developed the mark at some spot on their skin around the ages of fifteen and sixteen. Knowing that he wore his heritage as a permanent mark soothed him, and helped him feel still connected to the sister he'd lost, even if she probably didn't have it yet. He was sure that even if she'd disappeared ito the masses, one day someone would notice it and bring her back.

But until then, here he was. And he couldn't pretend for another moment that he hadn't seen Jace ogling someone, despite the fact he was engaged.

"Who's that you keep gazing at?" he asked, pointing over at the two girls whose direction Jace had kept glancing in. He didn't need to ask, he was pretty sure it was the red-haired girl. Which didn't make sense if Jace was just admiring her, since the other was more eye-catching. "The red-haired one or the black-haired one?" He smirked, though he wanted to yell at the Herondale Prince. If Lissa came back and found her betrothed was hung up on another girl...

He slightly regretted speaking so loudly when he saw Seb and Alexander Lightwood turn towards them, looking like brothers with their similar hair colours and masks to hide their faces. He hadn't meant to interrupt his friends conversation. "They're my sisters:" Alexander - Alec, he'd asked them to call him - said. "Isabelle Lightwood and Clary Fray."

He was sure his ears pricked up at the last part. "Fray?" He cast a sidelong glance as Jace. _That explains a lot_. "Not Lightwood?"

"Clary was adopted." Jace said curtly. Evidently he didn't like Jonathan's poking around. Alec turned to his prince, seemingly startled at the ice in his voice. But...

" _Clary?_ " Jon asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. _How far had this gotten?_

Jace flushed bright red and Jonathan counted it as a victory. He glanced back over at the girls and found himself frozen in place. _Clary_ was looking back at him. Their gazes locked. Jon's stomach contracted as he tried to identify the feeling he got. _Familiarity_. But the blankness in her gaze as she surveyed him was alien. Unfamiliar. What was happening?

The feeling disappeared as soon as her gaze snapped away. He presumed she had met Jace's eyes, but he suddenly found he didn't care enough to look. What seemed like moments later, Jace turned to him. "What's wrong?" It was one of the first civilised things they'd said.

He frowned. "She looked... sort of familiar. Like someone I saw long ago."

Jace seemed to consider something. He said "I have a question."

He shook himself free of the vulnerable, confused state. "Oh?" Jonathan quirked an eyebrow, tone mocking. Jace's eyes narrowed.

"Why did you react the way you did when our fathers proposed the second marriage possibility with Miss Penhallow?" His smirk faltered at that, and the prince noticed. "I'll tell you my reason if you tell me yours."

Jonathan gulped, checking no one was in earshot. Could he really trust him enough to tell him? Seb and Alec had resumed their conversation so he leaned in and said in a hushed tone "Lady Aline Penhallow is homosexual. I promised her I wouldn't let her be put in an arranged marriage."

"So you don't agree with the punishment?" Jace inquired. Jonathan would have been angry if it wasn't abundantly clear that he was against it as well.

"They're being imprisoned because of their love. It's like something out of a ballad. It's not right." Jace nodded. "Now what was your reason?"

"Alec's the same." Jon nodded grimly. "I promised his family when I overheard them discussing it that I wouldn't let him be married off either."

They stood in silence for a moment, just inspecting each other, finally seeing just how similar the two of them were.

* * *

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	6. i think i know enough of hate

**I rewrote the last chapter, sort of.**

 **Disclaimer: I own none of the characters**

* * *

"Care to explain?" Isabelle asked, innocently and loftily. Clary rolled her eyes, an action that despite the mask, definitely didn't get past Isabelle.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clary replied eloquently. Isabelle, and even Alec - the traitor, raised an eyebrow.

"What a subtle way of telling me to shut up." Isabelle drawled, but Clary could see by the twitch of her jaw that she was suppressing a smile. "You're very good at being polite, yet somehow rude at the same time."

"It's a gift." Clary's eyes skimmed over the crowd, by instinct searching for any threats despite the security heaped upon the event. Part of her mind was engaged on keeping up the banter with her sister, part of it was wondering whether it was worth navigating the crowd to get food from the back of the hall, and a tiny treacherous part was remembering how Jace's hand felt on her waist as they danced. She didn't bother shutting that part down. It always started up again.

She dimly registered that Jace had been ushered back into his seat on the dais the moment they'd stopped dancing, and that he was currently being engaged in conversation by his father, who seemed adamant he didn't embarrass himself in front of the Morgensterns further. Jonathan had been similarly arrested and brought back up to the dais, and was imitating the monarchs in surveying the room imperially. Clary fought the urge to roll her eyes again.

Finally, her stomach gave a groan and she submitted to its desires, standing up, brushing off Isabelle's questions, and going to find food.

She dodged the twirling couples with expert grace, rolling her weight from one foot to the other. She vaguely wondered whether an observer would think she was dancing herself, and she smiled slightly, before picking up the pace and striding to the table at the back.

It was loaded with an assortment of sweetmeats. There were dainty sandwiches containing pink slices of meat so thin they resembled rose petals piled precisely onto gleaming plates, and delicate small tarts filled with jams and jellies of various colours. Finely crafted pastries where the dough had been twisted into golden-brown flowers and birds. The tablecloth itself was lavishly embroidered in striking colours like royal blue, crimson, saffron, emerald, and was rimmed with exquisitely detailed lace. Clary frowned at the display thoughtfully. She had been to many of the King's celebrations, and generally he didn't pour so much effort or so many resources into one. Why now?

Then her sharply honed eyes deciphered the shimmer of silver and black threading that passed through the fabric, and the same monochrome colour scheme for the plates the patisseries sat on. Black and silver: the family colours of the Morgensterns.

Clary glanced around again, this time the grandeur of the ball chilling her bones. This wasn't a way to honour and welcome the Morgensterns. This was a showcase of wealth, and way of displaying just how vast the Herondale's connections and resources were. It was a way to intimidate the visiting royals. And judging by Valentine's stony expression, he knew it as well as she did.

"I see you've hit upon the purpose of this." Alec stepped up next to her and, like the good brother he was, read her awe and fear like a musician reads the notes. She barely acknowledged Jonathan's friend - Sebastian - behind him.

Clary reached out to pick up a small tart filled with strawberry jelly. The pastry on the top was modelled into a swan with its wings spread. "How can we build peace through aggression?" She asked as she neatly bit into the sweetmeat. The taste exploded in her mouth. "Is that possible?"

"It's not supposed to be, Clare." Alec responded, picking up his own pastry. The bird on the top was a trilling nightingale. "I don't know. But I do know there's only one name for the lack of obvious conflict going on, and it's not peace."

Behind Alec, Sebastian also chose a tart. He only looked at it for a moment, seemingly admiring the lifelike kingfisher upon it. Clary turned her outward attention back to Alec's grim expression and solemn eyes. "And what's that?"

Alec bit into his tart, savouring the taste of the orange jelly that bled out of it. He thought over his reply before swallowing. "A ceasefire."

* * *

Alec had returned to the dance floor, and appeared to be calmly but firmly telling a young man to stop harassing Isabelle. Clary still stood near the table, evaluating the scene and now-obvious displays of power evident. Now she knew what to look for, it was daunting just how much there was. It made her feel unbelievably small. How could an orphan, with no proven noble blood, even stand in the shadow of such wealth?

She must have eaten through about five of those pretty tarts by now, and she would have reached for another one, but now the perfect little sculptures, power in another form: beauty, made her feel a bit queasy. Or maybe that was the digested tarts talking.

She looked up as a shadow fell across her petite form and raised her eyebrows a fraction when she recognised Sebastian. She was cautious of Sebastian. She'd been studying him the way she did everyone, but she couldn't read him. His body language was contradicting, tense and casual, passive and aggressive. He was odd, and it was confusing her.

He held out a hand to her. The skin was pale as milk, but didn't seem to have a single freckle on it. She envied him. "May I have this dance?" He intoned, his voice smooth and rippling. She eyed him warily. Although it was advantage that he couldn't see her facial expression, neither could she see his.

She should probably stop treating everything like a trick, or a threat.

Her guise was a proper lady, a member of the court, and ladies didn't turn down offered dances from (presumably) attractive bachelors. She reluctantly took his hand and wondered if he could sense the reluctance in her hesitant grip. If he could, he didn't show it, instead gently tugging her onto the dance floor like she was a porcelain figurine who didn't know the steps. He swept himself in a low bow, and she responded with a mockingly small curtsy. Isabelle was right; she did love fulfilling societies etiquette, but being very rude about it.

Nevertheless, he rested one hand on her waist - or at least, the illusion the dress caused of where her waist was - and clasped her gloved right hand in his other. She let her left barely make contact with the fabric covering his elbow. When the music started, it wasn't a fast dance that left you breathless, but neither was it like the slow, close, romantic dance she and Jace had shared. Even so, she felt eyes burning the crown of her head and she had a funny feeling they weren't the King's.

"So, I'll be frank." Sebastian told her as they began to move. She had to force herself to fit to his irregular, gentle movements as opposed to the wild but graceful movements both she and Jace naturally used. "I'm here to propose a marriage."

Clary would have stopped moving from surprise but her body took over, knowing the steps like the way she knew the shape of her hands. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at his words. "Why? I didn't even know you existed - and vice-versa - until an hour ago."

She knew she couldn't accept. King Stephen didn't want anyone in on her secret, and a husband would certainly notice if his wife came home with blood on her hands. But the King knew that questions would be asked eventually why she wasn't married. One of the possible solutions that Robert and Stephen considered was a union between her and Alec, considering they got along and he already knew, so they didn't have to let anyone into the loop. But whilst they could tolerate it, both she and Alec were fighting against the idea, for multiple reasons.

Sebastian spun her, then brought her back in. She met his dark brown - almost black - eyes. "Yes, but I can already tell you're a decent person who I probably won't want to murder if I have to put up with them everyday. My father told me that if I want to inherit his title, then I have to be married by the age of twenty. And most of the unmarried ladies in the Morgenstern court are whining, prissy things who I can't put up with as it is."

She spun again, and when she was back on her heels she had formulated what she was going to say. "If the ladies from your homeland are so horrible, why would I want to return with you and spend time with them?"

She still couldn't see his face, but she knew she'd stumped him with that question. She felt his grip tighten fractionally. "Perhaps, but it would be worth it. My rank is Duke, and considering it's not certain you even have noble blood, a Duchess is a high position to be in. It's very influential and has its benefits."

"My point still stands."

"But it doesn't seem to be valid enough for you to base your entire refusal on." He dipped her. She briefly felt her feet leave the ground, then suddenly the cold marble floor was there again and they had continued talking. "I'm confused by your answer. It's not like you have any other suitors."

Unbidden, an image of Jace bloomed like a scorch mark on her retina's. "Perhaps not. But I still refuse to agree to spend the rest of my life with someone I barely know. At all." The music was ending now, and she removed her hand from his tight grip. Had it always been that firm? Her fingers ached slightly. "I don't even know what you actually look like."

Then, with another mocking curtsy, she went to sit with her siblings, who had been gawking at the entire exchange.

* * *

"Clary! _Clary!_ "

Clary had been standing near one of the gargantuan doors, trying to catch a breath of a breeze, when she heard her name being hissed. Casting her eyes around, they landed on a boy the same age as her standing in the slightly open door.

She grinned. Simon Lewis was her partner when she dealt with the King's business. They worked together like a flawless team, and hadn't failed any of their missions yet. The grin slipped as she took in what Simon was holding out to her. A white, meticulously folded note, with _Clary Fray_ scrawled across it in the King's regal calligraphy.

She took the note, eyes flicking up to meet Simon's. She finally noticed what he was wearing. The black leather trousers, boots, jacket and greaves they wore when on a hunt. She spied the glint of steel stashed into hidden compartments in the clothes. She swallowed. They were going out tonight.

She took and read the proffered note. All it said was _Rebels, East Gate_.

She glanced behind her to meet the King's grim gaze. He nodded, and she took that as _do it now_. Valentine noticed Stephen's sudden attention change and glanced towards her, but she was out of the door and down the corridor before his eyes caught up.

* * *

 **Much longer than usual.**

 **Review? I'm typing the next chapter as we speak, so the more reviews the sooner it's up.**


	7. to say that for destruction ice

**AN: The suits clary and Simon use here are like the suit Celaena uses in the Throne of Glass Series.**

 **Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure you know what I'm going to say by now. I don't own the Mortal Instruments. Cassandra Clare does.**

* * *

Jace felt bile rise in his throat as he saw Clary letting Sebastian lead her onto the dance floor like she was trophy hanging off his arm. He knew perfectly well that Clary was probably letting him, and that hurt even more.

But it made no sense why it hurt. Why wouldn't she let him? She had to hold her cover, and an ordinary girl at court wouldn't refuse a dance with one of the highest ranking bachelors for a hundred miles. She probably wasn't even interested in him. She was just trying to appear normal.

He kept telling himself this, even though he knew that false hope only ends in pain.

And he couldn't suppress a smile when she bobbed in her trademark mocking curtsy, and walked off, leaving Sebastian looking very put out.

* * *

Clary hurried down the corridor to her chambers, Simon easily keeping pace with his long, still-gangly legs. When she reached her door she threw it open and didn't even bother to tell Simon to look away, trusting him to take the initiative and do it instinctively as she shimmied out of the grand dress and threw on her own suit, after digging it out from under her bed. Whilst she tightened the straps and ran a routine check all the blades were in working order, Simon filled her in.

"So, the guards sighted a small but large enough to be suspicious gathering near the East gate, on the opposite side of the moat. Closer inspection revealed that they're carrying weapons. They disappeared soon after. We think they swam through the moat and climbed up the sewer pipe. It's not unheard of."

"But disgusting. We don't actually have to go up the pipe, do we?"

"Don't be so squeamish. But no. We tracked them to where they'll pop out inside the castle. If I go down to the moat and scare those that are left enough that they run up the pipe, then you can be up there waiting for them to come out. Easy prey."

"Why are you going near the moat?"

"Because I look more threatening." She was forced to concede on that point. She looked like a doll. So she only nodded. "They'll come out in the empty guest chambers in the East Wing. Considering how close the room is in relation to the Morgensterns' lodgings, we think they're trying to make it look like the Herondales ordered an assassination of the Morgensterns."

"That sounds plausible. And that will definitely be the first conclusion they'll jump to after the tensions tonight at the 'welcome' ball." Clary's mind was running a thousand miles per hour. Whoever organised this was a mastermind... And mastermind's knew when to retreat. "If they see us, they'll run like Hell."

"Clary!" Simon hissed. She swallowed. Oops. She was already suspected of witchcraft. She didn't need heresy and blasphemy added to that list as well. Simon only shook his head ruefully.

Finally, Clary had finished her checks. She grinned at Simon, letting that wildness that always seized her light up her eyes. The same feeling was reflected in Simon's face, like the same angel that had breathed it into her, had done the same for him.

"Ready to go, Lewis?"

"You bet, Fray."

As they made their way to the East Wing, swiftly and silently moving down the least used passageways, Clary felt the battle calm descend. She felt every pound of her heart like the beat of a drum and her legs moved lithely, with a loping grace instilled from a decade of training. Once they'd reached the stairs where Clary went up and Simon went down, she saw him touch his throat. Simon was Jewish, a fact that few knew, and believed in his religion enough to keep to it even when so many other Jews had been persecuted for their beliefs. Despite this, Simon still always wore a necklace with the Star of David on it around his neck, as a token of his faith.

With a companionable nod to each other, they parted ways.

* * *

Jon couldn't help a flare of smug satisfaction when he saw the insolence with which Clary Fray treated his friend. Sebastian had always been a bit of a player, flirting with all of the girls at home, so it was amusing to see him try it on the sullen, guarded redhead. He sank like a flooded ship. She didn't fall for his charms and blatantly left him floundering in the middle of the dance floor. Afterwards, Sebastian looked up and caught Jon's amused grin, then responded with a scowl. It just made Jon laugh all the harder.

About an hour later, the Morgenstern heir startled to feel stifled by the fluttering atmosphere of the ballroom and started wandering aimlessly down the corridors, far too proud to admit he was lost. He was padding quietly past another row of identical doors, when he heard loud footsteps. There only seemed to be one pair of footfalls, but he could hear three voices: two male, one female. He raised an eyebrow at the unlikely trio as they rounded the corner.

Jace Herondale walked on the left, doing his best to keep up with the pace set by the other two. It was his footsteps Jon had heard; the others were as silent as ghosts, despite the fact the middle one was limping, letting the thick carpet muffle any noise.

On the right was a tall-but-not-massively-tall boy, slightly younger than Jon, with brown hair and olive skin. He was fairly gangly, but he moved with the same grace as trained warriors. His lanky form was encased in a tight-fitting outfit of leather and steel, that looked tough enough to stop a cannon ball.

The third, the female, was Clary Fray. She wore the same outfit as the brown-haired boy and she limped with her left foot seemingly hurting. Despite this minor setback, she kept up with her friend with ease, matching his grace with her own and leaving Jace scrambling to keep up.

Jon narrowed his eyes at her face. Now he saw her without the mask, he knew what was so familiar about her. A suspicion took root in his mind.

The Morgenstern leaned against a wall, faking nonchalance, trying not to show his burning curiosity as to what they were doing.

"Well, well," he drawled. "What do we have here?"

* * *

God, Clary hated those rebels.

There'd been more than Simon had originally thought, and they caught onto what was happening quickly. They'd been prepared to fight, and whilst she'd been able to beat them due to the enclosed area, one of them had managed to sink a short blade into the juncture between the top of her boot and the thick trousers. Now she was limping rather heavily, and would have to clean up the wound once she got back to her chambers.

Fortunately, Simon had turned up soon after and had helped her dispose of the bodies down the same sewage pipe from which they'd come. After the two were finished, they'd watched their hands and were now just trying to get to Clary's room so they could clean up her leg.

However, there was the small complication that as soon as they crossed onto the correct floor, they ran into the one and only Jace Herondale.

Jace was walking down the corridor in the opposite direction to them as they passed. He didn't hear them because of their soft tread but they heard him and Clary barely managed to fix her limp by the time Jace caught sight of them. His eyes instantly flew to Clary, before they flicked towards Simon. The corners of his mouth tugged down as he studied Clary and it turned out she hadn't done as great a job at hiding her limp as she thought.

"Are you alright?" He asked, brows creasing. Clary muttered a 'yes' in response, not really having the energy to ask why he wasn't at the ball. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my chambers." Clary said shortly. Jace raised an eyebrow at her snappish tone and, to her annoyance, fell into step with them, in the direction they were going.

"Did you get hurt being an assassin?" He inquired, and the part of Clary that wasn't considering strangling the persistent fool almost thought there was actual concern in the question. Simon snapped his head to look at Jace, then glanced down at Clary.

"He knows?"

"Somehow."

They kept walking, and despite being injured, Clary still couldn't help laughing at how Jace couldn't keep up with her and Simon. It was sort of funny, seeing the confident, suave Prince completely out of his depth. He questioned them extensively about what they'd done, but both were masters at vague answers, and he eventually gave up.

Clary heard the muted footsteps before she saw him. As they came round the corner, Jonathan Morgenstern was leaning against a wall casually, gaze flitting over the group. "Well, well," he sang. "What do we have here?"

Clary had to admit: they made an unusual group.

Jonathan pushed himself off the wall, gaze now fixed solely on Clary. "And why are you limping?" She didn't give him the courtesy of an answer, just walking past and ignoring his comment. "It's rude to ignore a Prince, you know!" He called after her. He fell into step with Jace, who walked behind Simon and Clary.

"Don't bother," she heard the Herondale Prince mutter. "You won't get any answers. I've been questioning her for years."

Jonathan, the nosy idiot, only raised his eyebrow even higher. "Can't speak for yourself, Clary?"

"I've nothing worth saying, Jonathan." She replied sweetly.

"You have no respect for titles do you?" There was no reprimand in his voice, only pure curiosity.

Clary stopped altogether, turning round to face the Morgenstern Prince. She folded herself in an incredibly low bow that was somehow more mocking than her barely-a-curtsy. Her leg barked in pain but she ignored it. "My _sincerest_ apologies _my liege_ ," she tittered. "But a title is nothing more than ink on a paper that will one day rot, and a sound on the air that will sound fade."

Jonathan looked at her with a growing smile. "I like you," he said cheerfully, his snooty demeanour gone. "You're blunt and bold and don't take elitist nonsense from anybody."

Clary nodded as she started walking again. "That pretty much sums me up," she said as she reached her door. She twisted the handle and walked inside.

Isabelle sat on her bed. "Clary, where were you? You-" She broke off when she saw Clary's outfit, and the thin trail of blood now trickling down her boot. "Right. Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

Clary nodded, then moved out of the doorway, letting Simon come in. Isabelle blushed when she saw him; she'd always had a small crush on Simon.

Clary plopped herself onto the bed, beginning to unbuckle the myriad of straps that held her suit to her body. She slid her right boot off and stretched her cramped foot with a sigh.

When she looked up, she saw Jace and Jonathan had been trying to pass into the room, only to be stopped by Simon. The Morgnstern scowled at her friend. "Let us through. Have you no respect for your superiors?"

"Remember what you were saying earlier about elitist nonsens?" She asked him. He only looked at her, abashed. "Thought as much." She bent down to unbuckle her other boot. "Let them through, Simon." Clary waved a dismissive hand. "It's more trouble than it's worth."

That comment got her two sets of narrow glares, but they grudgingly stepped into the room.

"Toss me the cleaning rag, Isabelle." Clary called, and caught the flying white cloth. She unbuckled her boot and slipped it off, revelling in freeing her foot from the tight quarters. She then went to wipe the blood off her ankles, hissing as the muscles twinged. Once it was clean, she started to move further up the leg when Jonathan called "Wait."

Confused, Clary stopped dabbing her leg and shifted to try and see what he was staring at. He moved over to sit next to her on the bed and gently ran his finger over the skin of her foot. "What's this?" He asked. She looked closer and saw what he was looking at: a faint blotch, one she would have mistaken for a scar had it not been a shade darker than her skin rather than light, in the vague but unmistakable shape of a star.

* * *

 **Review? Again, I'm typing up the next chapter as you read this, and reviews inspire me to post it sooner.**


	8. is also great

**Only two chapters left!**

 **Disclaimer: I own only the plot. The characters belong to Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

Jon already suspected who she was when he saw her face. Clary Fray was the spitting image of his mother, Jocelyn Morgenstern. He remembered what his sister had looked like at age three, with brilliant green eyes, a mop of scarlet hair, and a face that was more fat than bone. He could still see traces of that child in the sarcastic but serious teenager in front of him.

"What about it?" Clary asked, brows drawing together. _Clary_ \- short for Clarissa. Whoever had kidnapped her had been laughing at them this whole time. He'd spent half his life searching far and wide, through less than friendly kingdoms, and she'd been next door all along.

"Lissa?" Jonathan whispered, and he suspected that the heartbreak in the tone was laid out for all to see. Clary frowned even deeper, like that name meant something to her, from an age so young that she couldn't remember anything from it.

Jace was the first - and only - person in the room to connect the dots. His aureate eyes grew wide and they flew between Clary and Jon, clearly following the same thought process as Jonathan. His hand flew to his mouth. "Are you serious?"

Jonathan rose his eyes to meet Jace's. "Do you honestly think I would joke about this?"

"Pardon me for interrupting," Clary said, green eyes flashing with irritation like lightning in a thundercloud. Jonathan couldn't help but notice that though her obvious colouring was the same as his - _their_ \- mother's, the shape of her eyes, the line of her jaw, and the iron determination with which she stood, mirrored their father. "But could someone tell me _what is going on?!_ " Her injured foot seemed to have shifted on her priorities list.

"Yes," her adoptive sister - Isabelle, was it? - said. "An explanation would be appreciated."

But she wouldn't get one. Because before Jon knew what he was doing, he had grabbed Clary's wrist and dragged her out of the room, heedless of her hissing as her bare feet touched the cold floor, or the drops of blood still trailing from her leg. Jace caught up quickly, having swiftly realised what Jon was doing. The others weren't so fast, and he heard indignant cries of outrage behind them. Clary was still trying to yank her hand back. "Good thinking."

Jon momentarily wondered when they'd gained the ability to read each others' minds.

Finally, Clary broke his bruising grip but didn't run. Instead she planted her feet on the ground and plunged daggers into the two of them with her bright eyes. Jace visibly flinched and Jon had to resist the urge to do the same. "What. Are. You. Doing."

Her gaze was fixed on Jonathan, since he'd been the one to come up with the plan, but that didn't stop Jace from cowering. Jonathan steeled himself, then said "Do you trust me?"

She blinked, the clear green glass covered for a moment. Those eyes... _How had he not noticed before!_ It was like when you hear the answer to a riddle, and you kick yourself for not seeing what was right in front of you. She opened her mouth to reply. "Quite frankly, no."

His heart sank, but he understood where she was coming from. The first time she'd spoken to him was about ten minutes ago. "Well then, do you trust Jace?" She made a great show of considering it, as Jace made a mock offended expression, clutching at his heart. "Just follow us." Jonathan said, exasperated. She raised her eyebrows - couldn't she raise one? Or was she just trying to make a point about how sceptical she was of him? - but to his relief didn't argue. She followed, a little behind, like she was just waiting for them to make the wrong move so she could slaughter them. Another person might be intimidated, but he was just amused, throwing glances over his shoulder. When she caught his eye, she narrowed her own at him. He hastily jerked his head forwards, avoiding her fiery gaze.

Jonathan had been right in the assumption that his parents had returned from the ball. When they reached the door to their chambers, though, they heard shouting. The two princes exchanged worried looks, before pushing open the door.

Valentine and Stephen were yelling and glaring at each other, with so much anger it set the air in the room alight. Jocelyn filled in the gaps where Valentine ran out of things to say, her fury making her seem all the more was less vocal, but she stood next to Stephen in a silent show of support.

"We place our trust in you, with bring _our son_ here, and entrust you not to hurt us, and then you try to assassinate us!" Valentine roared, shaking slightly.

" _We didn't send them!_ " Stephen shouted back, fists clenching and unclenching. "They were rebels trying to frame us!"

"It's true," said a voice. It was quiet and firm, but was somehow heard over the shouting. The Morgensterns and Stephen turned towards the new arrivals, more specifically Clary. "They were rebels trying to pose as an assassin sent by Stephen, to disrupt the peace treaty."

"How would you know?"

"Stephen sent me to dispatch them." She replied plainly. Jon looked at her in awe - and he wasn't the only one. So that explained the injury.

Suddenly, Jocelyn rounded on Stephen. "You told a little girl to fight off trained warriors?"

Jonathan sensed disaster even before he saw Clary's outraged expression, looking like she'd just been mortally offended. He cut her off as she opened her mouth, giving her a warning look. "That's not what we came in here for."

"Not that you could be bothered to tell me what we did come in here for." She muttered. Jonathan hid a smile at his father's expression.

"You insolent girl! My son is a Crown Prince and you will treat him with the respect you owe your superiors!"

Jonathan again cut off Clary as she opened her mouth to develop some no doubt scathing words, although he would have paid a fortune to see the showdown of words between her and her father. There would be time for that later, hopefully. "But I'm not her superior, Father." Jonathan said.

All eyes turned on him: black, green, gold and blue. He resisted the urge to turn red, and spoke "Look at her foot."

Five pairs of eyes landed on Clary's bloody foot as everyone but he and Jace looked at it. "It's covered in blood." Jocelyn said, and her raised eyebrow clearly asked a question. "Why?"

"Minor injury," Clary said dismissively. She bent down without having to be asked and wiped the crimson liquid off with her sleeve.

"Now look," Jonathan urged. Valentine did, and drew a sharp intake of breath.

"What is it about this mark on my foot that has everyone so worked up?" Clary asked irritably. Jonathan exchanged glances with his parents, and saw them mirroring each other's shocked expressions. He took that as a go ahead.

He turned to Clary and pulled the collar of his shirt slightly so the star mark on his own shoulder was visible. "Around the ages of fifteen or sixteen Morgenstern children develop a star-shaped mark some place on their body. No one knows why."

Clary had somehow managed to lower her brows but widen her eyes. It was an amusing expression. "So that means..."

Jon reached out and clasped her right hand in his left. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "It means you're a Morgenstern, Clary. You're my little sister."

* * *

Impossible.

Plausible.

How could something be both impossible and plausible at once?

On one hand: she was Clary Fray. A middle-class (presumably) orphan abandoned at a few years old to be raised amongst low-ranked nobles. An assassin who had the blood of a man who was not her King's enemies on her hands. Sister to Isabelle and Alec Lightwood, friend and partner to Simon Lewis, secret love to Jace Herondale. She was no princess.

But on the other hand: she'd never known her parents. She had no idea where she'd come from. Clarissa Morgenstern had disappeared aged three. She'd appeared that year roughly the same age.

But if this was true, then who had taken her, and why?

"Impossible," Stephen said, but he looked uncertain. To be honest, she was unsure of his motives for why he would be so adamant against this idea. But before she could call him out, someone else did.

"You just don't want to lose your personal assassin." Jace sneered. His parents looked taken aback at their son's knowledge.

"You knew?" Celine gasped.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Clary looked back towards Jocelyn and Valentine - _her parents_ \- and found them staring back at her. "Clarissa?" Jocelyn breathed. She studied Jocelyn's face.

It was identical to her own.

She believed Jonathan now.

She spread her arms wide in a half-shrug, as though that might calm her racing heart. "Apparently."

The breath left her in a whoosh as Jocelyn knocked into her, hugging her and squeezing like she would disappear again as soon as she let go. Clary laughed and hugged her mother back, burying her face in her shoulder.

Jocelyn pulled away and skimmed two fingers along her daughter's cheekbone, all the while murmuring "You're back, you're back" over and over. She laughed louder when she felt hesitant, thick arms wrap around the both of them and she felt her father's touch for the first time in her life. She felt a hot tear on her shoulder and she neither knew nor cared whose it was. She grinned at her brother over her mother's shoulder, who grinned back.

Jace stood watching, feeling his heart swell for Clary. She looked so happy; her face had lit up and if her cheeks hurt from so much smiling, she didn't show it.

And Isabelle, who stood in the doorway, smiled at the Morgensterns as the years of lost love were repaid in an instant.

But no one said anything, lest they break the moment in which a broken family became whole again.

* * *

Clary hadn't been able to sleep. She tossed and turned for hours. Finally she gave up and went where she always did when she couldn't sleep, and climbed the stairs in the palace up to the roof. She sat on the edge, her feet dangling in the sheer drop, and just looked at the stars.

It had been agreed that her job as an assassin was finished. Stephen would have to find a new lapdog to carry out his dirty work. She would be leaving for the Morgenstern palace with the rest of her family soon, leaving behind the Lightwoods and Jace and everything else she ever known. She was going home.

 _Home._ She never thought she'd had one. Despite her years of living in with the Lightwoods, this place had never felt like it. She wondered whether the Morgenstern's residence would feel like one.

She looked out over the kingdom. The shining lights of Alicante, the nearest city, glittered on the horizon. This was the kingdom where she had grown into a woman. Where she had met some of her closest friends, and even her crush. Where she had spilled blood for the first time.

Her family had been surprisingly accepting of her being an assassin. They said that their family were born to be warriors, and she'd only learned the skills needed in a more unorthodox way.

"Need any company?" She turned to see Jace, silhouetted against the moon.

"How did you know I'd be here? Or even that I couldn't sleep?" She asked as he perched on the edge beside her.

He shrugged. "What kind of person would be able to sleep after the events you went through today. And I knew you'd be here because whenever you get upset you head for high ground. You like to see the sky and the horizon and the earth. It makes you feel infinite."

"Did I ever tell you I think it's creepy how closely you pay attention to me?" She teased light-heartedly. He gave her a crooked grin.

"No, just heavily hinted at it." They laughed, and Clary loved the ease with which she could. For one night up here, they could be an ordinary boy and girl, with no royal duties calling, or eyes watching and judging. They could be themselves.

"Something's bothering you." Jace said. It wasn't a question. There was an invitation to share in his tone, although she knew he wouldn't pry. But she didn't mind.

"It feels strange." She admitted. "This morning I was Clary Fray, telling my adoptive sister Isabelle Lightwood to stop trying to set me up with you," Jace raised and eyebrow, looking amused "and now I'm Clarissa Morgenstern, the long lost princess. Those are big boots to fill. What if my feet aren't big enough?" Jace kept quiet. He knew she wasn't done. "Who am I?" Her voice cracked.

Jace looked at her, and took her wringing hands in his own. "You are Clary," he said softly. Calmly. "You are both Clary Fray and Clarissa Morgenstern, and a thousand other things. Your names don't define you. What defines you is the way you hug your siblings so tight it's like you're afraid they'll disappear if you let go. What defines you is the way you remember the names and stories of every single person you've killed, so they live on in a way. What defines you is the way you talk back to your superiors until they give up trying to reprimand you, and the way you did your best to stop my romantic advances because you knew that it could only end in heartbreak for both of us, and the way that even now, when you have the right to all the confidence in the world, you are still second-guessing yourself."

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he continued. His voice was a melodic chant. "What defines you is the way that though your walls are ice, your heart is fire, and it burns through everyone's defences." He touched their foreheads together. "Why do you think I fell in love with you?"

Her breath caught. "Say that again."

He smiled gently. "I'm in love with you, Clary."

And then they were kissing, and it was everything and nothing like what she'd expected. It was a kiss meant to instil solace, and peace, and acceptance, but it was so much more than that. It was the moment where everything they'd tried to hide from the world was laid out in the open without a second thought, for the world to scrutinise all it wanted. Jace's hand came up to cup the back of her neck and they both smiled, sharing the same sense of utter contentment.

When they pulled back, Clary said a little breathlessly: "I love you too, Jace," at which his smile only grew wider. "But my brother is going to kill you."

"Alec or Jon?"

"Both."

"Well," Jace said with laughter in his voice, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. "They won't want to risk making you a widow, will they?"

This brought her up short. "What?"

He only smiled. "Remember? Clarissa Morgenstern and Jonathan Herondale are engaged."

Her lips parted, as she looked at Jace like he was the only star in the sky. He whispered soothing words to her. "You're leaving soon, Clary. For a few years, you won't see me or Alec or Isabelle everyday. But soon you'll be back again, and you'll be called Clarissa Herondale."

She only looked at him, feeling like her heart would break from the sheer amount of feelings it contained. They kissed again, and stayed up on the roof all night, watching the stars. Because they had time, all the time in the world, and they didn't need to hide anymore.

* * *

 **I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up a little writing this.**

 **The next chapter will be the last chapter! It's almost over!**

 **Review?**


	9. and would suffice

**Final chapter! It's a short story, because that's how I always planned if to be. I might write some one shots set in the storyline though...**

 **And for the last time: I do not own TMI.**

* * *

Sebastian Verlac tentative raised his dark eyes to meet the identical ones of his father. The expression of fathomless rage distorting the older man's face was one familiar to him.

"Well done," he hissed bitterly. He raised his hand and Sebastian flinched, bracing himself for the strike, but it never came. Instead the older man simply ran his hands through his black hair, jaw clenched as he tried to contain his temper.

"You had one job," the Duke continued, "one job: securing Clary Fray's hand in marriage. The rest you just had to leave up to me. And yet you. Messed. It. Up."

They stood in the chambers generously loaned to them for the duration of the Morgensterns' stay with the Herondales. The party - with the newly found Princess - was due to travel home the next day.

"I'm not the only one at fault here," Sebastian snarled back. He saw the shock on his father's face at his forwardness. "You're the one who hired inadequate fighters to stage the attempted murder of King Valentine. I-"

"How was I supposed to know the girl would turn out to be King Stephen's assassin?!"

"-had to take the initiative and _tell_ the King that there were assassins around."

"I know," his father said, taking him by surprise. His father dragged his hand across his cheek and fiddled with his bottom lip, looking worried. "And I applaud you for that, and the fact that you were subtle enough not to direct the finger of suspicion at the Herondales, and let the distrust do it for you.

Sebastian drew in a breath as the expected deprecation finally came. "But even if we never managed to begin a war that would end with the Morgensterns winning and ruling the Herondale kingdom as well, you could still have gained the Morgenstern crown through some good timing. If only you'd been more seductive-" Sebastian looked at his father in disbelief "-and talked about less politics to confuse the little girl, then we could have secured a marriage, then 'discovered' who she was _after_ the union. After that, we just needed to stage an unfortunate incident where the hot-headed Crown Prince slaughters his father. Then the path would have been clear for you and Clarissa to ascend to the throne."

Sebastian nodded, staying silent. Without words, he couldn't lie. "Do you understand that? We've been through this, and you agreed to it."

"I did," he said shoving all emotion out of his voice.

"And now that plan's foiled." His father sighed, then clasped his son's hands. Said son hoped he didn't notice the shiver of repulsion that went through him."But make no mistake, my boy. We _will_ take care of the Morgensterns and Herondales, and we _will_ see you sitting on those thrones. I'm not letting all these years of work going to waste. This branch of fate has been in motion since we first hired Hodge Starkweather to kidnap Clarissa so long ago and to dump her on the Lightwoods doorstep. _It does not end here_."

Sebastian squeezed his father's hands. "It won't." He assured, but his heart wasn't in it. He told himself he was loyal to Jon, and would someday betray his father, but when would Someday come? He'd been walking the line between loyalties for years, and the line was as thin as a razor's edge, so in his wake he left a trail of blood no one realised was his own.

The creak of a floorboard outside brought them to their senses. The Duke paled; if anyone had heard, told the King...

But when they looked, no one was there. They slept easily that night, Sebastian's mind guilt-ridden, and his father's mind scheming, until the very end.

Neither of them woke when the tall prince with bright hair who had heard their earlier conversation snuck into their rooms, or when the cool knife slid across the elder's throat, and the noble blood he prided himself on stained the sheets.

Even when the maids who came to wake them in the morning screamed at the sight of him, the elder slept on, leaving his son to leave for home with a shaken sense of relief. He kept dreaming, and possibly scheming, for the rest of eternity.

But since none of his schemes would ever come to fruition, no one but his son and that prince would ever remember him as the villain.


End file.
